User blog comment:Bartholomew Bilberry Bowstring/The First of Many/@comment-1298206-20160506210438/@comment-3135907-20160512221001

Thistlin gave the slightest smile of gratitude and tipped the canteen back, eyes closed in a brief moment of bliss as the murky, stale water poured down her throat. It could have been fresh from the cool mountain streams of Icetor, for all she cared.